


Make a Wish

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Fluff, Donuts, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Romantic Fluff, Surprises, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: Today was Sandor’s birthday, and like countless years prior to this one, he thought that he would be celebrating it on his own. When the gorgeous redheaded object of his desire shows up unannounced on his doorstep, however, Sandor's wish just may come true after all.





	Make a Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaxBetta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxBetta/gifts), [SuchaHag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchaHag/gifts).



> This one-shot was written in honor of Rory McCann's 49th birthday today (April 24th). I'm dedicating it to two die-hard Rory fans, MaxBetta and SuchaHag, whose contributions to the Rory fandom on Tumblr and here on AO3 make me smile every day! Thanks for all your hard work, ladies!
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

Grumbling to himself as he slammed the refrigerator door shut with his bare foot, Sandor twisted off the top to his bottle of dark beer, pulling a long swig, wiping the droplets of ale from his face with the back of his hand.  He leaned against the worn-out Formica counter of his tiny kitchen, drawing in a deep, slow breath before guzzling a second taste while he contemplated just how lonely he really was.

Today was Sandor’s birthday, and like countless years prior to this one, he would be celebrating it on his own.  His drunk of a worthless father was long dead, and his sociopathic older brother was incarcerated longer than Sandor would manage to live.  He didn’t have one friend to his name, either.  Sure, Sandor could’ve asked Bronn to hang out after their shift was done, but quite frankly, Sandor would rather cut his own heart out with a spoon than to suffer Bronn’s smug-as-fuck company any longer than duty called him to do so.

Pushing off the counter, Sandor grabbed the pizza box off the counter, shuffling out of the kitchen and into his barely furnished living room.  He placed the box beside him on the sofa cushion, setting his partially consumed beer on the end table and yanking the television remote off said table.  Tonight, Sandor might be ringing in another miserable year of his life on this godforsaken planet by himself, but at least he could drown out his loneliness in a couple of rounds of alcohol and a classic horror flick.

Just as Sandor was about to scroll through his list of saved titles, he heard a light rapping on his front door.

_Now who in the hell can that be?_

Cursing under his breath, Sandor tossed the remote onto the coffee table, hopping to his bare feet and stomping toward the door.  God save him if it was one of those annoying as hell Kettleblack brothers who lived across the hall.  Sandor was quite sure that he might arrest him on the spot for disturbing the peace if it were.

“Yeah, what it is?” Sandor snarled with a fair amount of venom laced in his words as he jerked the front door open so hard, the hinges creaked.  To his utter astonishment, it was _not_ a Kettleblack brother.

“Hey, Sandor!” chirped the gorgeous redhead standing on his doorstep.  In her well-manicured hands was a box of donuts, lifting it slightly as she added, “Happy birthday!”

_Bugger me sideways…_

Sansa Stark.

Sansa Fucking Stark.

The pretty little bird from Hotpie’s, the donut shop where Sandor and Bronn liked to stop at the beginning of their shift to grab a coffee and snack since police officers always ate for free.  For months now, Sandor had gawked at Sansa like a green around the gills school boy, fumbling over his words like a dorky teenager each and every time she tried to engage him in conversation.  Bloody hell, how many damn times had Sandor endured Bronn’s relentless rounds of teasing in the squad car because Sandor’s tongue always managed to twist into a knot when Sansa spoke to him?

This wasn’t going to be any easier, especially since he had no fucking idea how she even knew where he lived.

“Sansa?” Sandor asked though he was fully cognizant of the fact who she was.  “How did…how could you know…”

“I overheard Bronn telling you ‘happy birthday’ today when you guys came in for your usual,” Sansa beamed widely, shuffling nervously from one sneaker covered foot to the other.  “And when you went to the bathroom, I asked Bronn if he would tell me how to track you down, so…here I am.”  With that confession hanging out in the open, Sansa lowered her eyes momentarily, worrying her plump pink bottom lip in that way she always did when Sandor stared at her like a moron as he was probably doing now.

What he wouldn’t give to have a taste of that pink lip tonight.

“Bronn told you where I live?” Sandor snorted in shock, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Just like that?”

“Well, I did offer him an extra donut for a week if he gave up your address,” Sansa giggled slightly, lifting her pale blue eyes to meet his.

Unable to process the unplanned turn of events, Sandor just gaped at Sansa like she had sprouted a pair of wings.

“So…” she continued slowly, rocking on the balls of her feet, “Could I come in for just a minute?”  Leaning a bit to the side, Sansa peaked around Sandor’s massive form to steal a glance inside his apartment.  “I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Blinking rapidly, Sandor shook his head violently.  “No, no,” he answered with gusto, “I’m not busy.  Please, come in.”  As he finished speaking, Sandor stepped aside, pushing the front door wide open to allow Sansa to enter.

She didn’t say a word as she walked through the threshold of his low-budget apartment, although her curious eyes eagerly scanned her surroundings.  Still holding onto the box of sweet treats, Sansa glided toward the bar that separated Sandor’s kitchen and living space, gently sitting the box down on the pass-through counter before spinning like a prima ballerina on her heels.

“Nice place,” Sansa smiled at him as Sandor shut the door and followed her into the living room.

“Yeah, right,” Sandor said in return, rolling his eyes as she blatantly assessed his quarters.

“I’m serious!” Sansa laughed, reaching out to playfully swat his upper arm.  “It’s cozy and very masculine in here.”

Sandor knew that she was simply being polite.  In fact, in the almost four months that Sansa had been working at Hotpie’s, she had been nothing but polite to Sandor.  Why the beautiful young girl showed the patience to deal with him and his giant, normally gruff ass was beyond him.  And now she was standing in the middle of his place.  Like they were friends or something.  And she had brought him donuts.

“So, do you have any big plans for your birthday tonight?” Sansa wondered as she reached up to run her delicate hand through her auburn hair.  Sandor’s silver eyes tracked her movements.  He had never seen her with her hair down like she was wearing it right now.  At work, she always had it pinned into a bun or pulled back into a pony tail.  Christ almighty, her hair was long.  Thick, too.  It looked like the kind of hair a man could weave his hands in and not ever touch skin.

“Uh, no,” Sandor finally replied, realizing that he was probably staring at her like a creep or something as his imagination dared to run away from him.  “This is pretty much it.”  He waved his hand toward the television and the pizza.

“Would you like some company?” Sansa asked softly, her voice full of hope.

_This can’t be happening…_

“You want to hang out…here…with me?” he hesitated.  Surely Sansa didn’t mean it?

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she confirmed with a nod.  “That is…if you’re OK with me hanging out with you.”

Sandor was positive.  He had died and had entered a parallel universe.

“Sure,” Sandor whooshed in a gush of air, his mouth going dry in an instant.  “I just…I was going to have…you like pizza?” he asked, grimacing at how fucking stupid he just sounded.

The way Sansa’s perky nose crinkled when she giggled at his reply made Sandor’s heart pound even more vigorously in his broad chest.  “I love pizza.”

“Great,” he mumbled, still frozen in place as she stared up at him.

“Great,” she smiled, her pearly whites flashing at him momentarily before she turned to point at the box of donuts.  “And I brought you something.”

“I see that,” Sandor concurred, feeling his own mouth betraying his brain’s intent to try to act cool for once when it angled into a geeky grin.

Whipping open the lid, Sansa looked over her shoulder at him as she showed him the contents.  “Six chocolate iced donuts with the sprinkles on top.  Just like you order every day.”  Before Sandor could come up with something witty to say in return, she removed her purse from her shoulder, unzipping it and rifling through the contents.  In her hand, she pulled out a cigarette lighter and a package of multicolored candles.  “I bummed this off Shae,” Sansa added when she held up the lighter, angling her head so she looked up at him through her lashes.  “And I nabbed these from the stock room,” she grinned when she held up the candles.

“Sansa, you really shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble,” Sandor began as Sansa placed the lighter on the counter and began opening the box of candles.  Jesus, he was finding it difficult to accept that this was really happening.  He wanted to believe that this was real.  He wanted to believe that Sansa cared about him.  He wanted to believe that just this once, the gods were not laughing at him and were not playing their usual jokes on him.  Women like Sansa didn’t look at guys like him, uniform or not.  His ass-wipe of an older brother had made sure long ago that no woman would ever do so.

“It was no trouble at all,” she countered with an air of authority on the subject, carefully opening the package of candles, pulling one out of the tiny box and stuffing it into a donut.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Sandor belly laughed, pushing aside some strands of his coal black hair that had fallen into his scarred face.  He watched intently as Sansa lifted the donut into the air as she nabbed the lighter off the counter, deftly flicking the flame into existence with her thumb.  Quickly, she lit the lone candle, sitting down the lighter and raising the sweet toward Sandor.  Bugger him to hell and back if he would let on that he felt a bead of sweat forming at his temple when that damn flame drew near his face.

“Happy birthday, Sandor,” Sansa smiled at him, her bright eyes alight with mischief as she shot him a wink.  “Don’t forget to make a wish!”

Stupefied by the whole ordeal, Sandor inhaled sharply, deciding for once in his fucking life, he’d not overthink the situation at hand.  Obeying her command, he slammed his eyelids shut, making the same wish that he had wished every stinking night for the last four months since that first day Sansa had smiled at him at Hotpie’s.  When he finally blew out the candle, he opened his eyes to see her own visibly hooded ones staring directly at him.

“Beer?” he croaked, clearing his throat to cover up the raised pitch in his voice.

“You bet,” Sansa murmured as she sat the sweet treat back into the open box.  Without warning, she lifted her long index finger to her mouth, enveloping the tip as she sucked the icing left behind from the donut.  “I’m pretty thirsty.”  And then she winked again.

Sandor gulped.

_Happy fucking birthday to me._


End file.
